Painting Flowers
by UuGgHh its Bryan
Summary: Everyone says an Angel can never die, but does Konan believe that? As she takes her last breath, will she end up regretting it all, or believing into the story and press on to live; to live forever.


Just a little drabble abotu Konan, I love her so much x_x

Hope it's okay and liked? Possibly?

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><p>I've never given much thought to dying. It's always been something that's foreign to me, something that I felt like was so far away. But…I never really thought about how I would die. It was never much of an issue in my mind. I've always felt so…protected, by everything, really. I've always felt like I've had someone protecting me, like I've had something watching over me. But the fact of the matter is that I've been protecting other people and watching over them. I've been the person to stick their neck out over and over, and I think that's why I've always felt like I couldn't die. Every time I feel like I'm coming close to it, I don't. Every time I feel like death is going to come in and swoop me away faster than I can ever imagine; it doesn't. There's always something interfering with it. There's always someone interfering with it, someone who would give their life for me. And as if that's not enough I feel as if I can't physically die. My body is paper. It's thin sheaths of paper just layered on top of each other to form me. How can paper die? Even if you rip it up into a thousand tiny little pieces, you can still put it back together, right?<p>

I don't know why I've felt like this, but I have for the longest time. Like…no matter how much I hurt, no matter how much pain I feel, I'll always be okay. I guess it was just my mind telling me these things to make me feel safe, to make me feel secure. I'm still human. I still thrive off of these maudlin emotions and false sense of security. People have told me that I deserve that right. People always say I deserve the right to feel safe and happy, but do I? I've done so much bad. I've hurt countless amounts of people…and yet I live. It really is such a frail, delicate existence at that, too. I'm not the angel that everyone thinks I am. I'm not the most amazing person out there, and it's true. Almost everyone questions why I'm still by his side. They all question why I'm still here, supporting him, when I've always been the weakest link of the group. But…it's so simple. An angel never abandons their god, and that is why I live on. This is why I keep on pushing and pushing for something more, for something that he has always promised.

But what is a promise? All these years, throughout all of my existence…I've been promised so much. Time and time again I have been promised so many things. Happiness. Health. Money. Power. But yet…they're all for not. In the end, what are they going to do to help me live? To help me survive? Which one, save for power, will benefit me? Where is the point in this power, if it brings you nothing? Where is the point in anything I do, if I am still unhappy? Everyone says that I always look so blank and that I don't show any emotion; it's because I've lost the ability to feel my emotions. I've lost the ability to care about anyone but him, and yet, I don't regret it. It makes me feel like I'm worth something…it makes me feel as if my life has some type of value held within it, and I'm not just living on day after day for nothing. He is the one who has always protected me, and he will always be the one I will do anything for. It's almost like a mutualistic relationship. He protects me, I protect him; in the end, we both survive, and that's all that matters. There's no point in doing anything if I can't be with him. There's no point in trying to live on without him around.

Yes, I have become attached. Do I care? No, not really. Someone once asked me, a pupil actually; why do we as humans attach ourselves to such trivial, impalpable things? I couldn't answer her back then, and I still couldn't answer her to this day. I don't know the answer, because I've done it, and I don't know how to stop it. I guess that's what you get when you let your emotions get in the way of your work, when you let the things you feel interfere with your everyday life cycle. Is it a hindrance? I've been asked this numerous times over the years, and every time I have to say no. But each time…I feel myself getting closer and closer to saying yes. Every time I can feel myself getting nearer to the darkest part of my soul, but yet, every time he brings me back. He can tell. He can see it. In my mind; he sees it all, and I don't care. I want him to see it. I want him to know how I feel, because I don't even know how I feel. The only things I ever really feel anymore are a sense of fulfillment or disappointment. What else is there to feel? Happy? Sad? Angry? No. They all get in the way. They all cause you to falter. If anybody learned anything from me over the years, it was to erase those emotions. It was to force them out of your body and get rid of them, because only then, can you be cold and calculating. Only then can you carry out your purpose in life, and only then can you ever truly be satisfied.

It's where I have reached, finally. Even now, as I feel the life slipping gingerly through my hands, I can finally feel happy. Because now I have…I have fulfilled my destiny. I have been the angel to protect him, and I will be the angel to die for him. It's a funny thing, really. No one ever thinks about the way they were going to die, but I never pictured it like…like this. I'm not affected by the weapons of man. I never have been, but yet, it is one of those same implements of hate that has claimed my life. Crude, cold and vicious; the metal weapons forged by my kind are now undoing me. The chilling feeling of steel protruding deep into such a fleshy thing as myself; it's surreal. I've always been paper. I've always been the one that's indestructible. I've always been the one that can't be hurt by these things, because as paper you can always be healed. But now…now I know I cannot. I know that some things in life are irreversible, and some things in life can be fixed. This though…this cannot be fixed, but it doesn't matter.

I was always just a pawn. In his giant game of life, I was a simply little pawn he used as a piece to his advantage. I can see why. I'm loyal. I'm malicious. I'm strategic. I'm the perfect killing machine, with none of those messy human emotions to accompany it. I can see why I was picked, and I can see why I will be the one to sacrifice everything. I will be the one who will give it all away, just so he can remain, just so he can still reach his goal. My goal…my life is done, it's over. I don't need to be here anymore, and that's why I can feel it all fading. It's why I can smell the metallic scent of tainted rust in the air, can see the cloying crimson gently making its way down the mountain of my body; it's why I can feel every fiber of my being quake inside myself. But even now, as I finally agree to lay down my life, as I finally agree to the fact that I am nowhere near indestructible; I refuse to show emotion. My face is powder white like normal, save for the small drops of satin lingering on my chin. Not even on my death bed will I show weakness, because weakness is betrayal.

Betrayal of him? No. Weakness is a betrayal of yourself. When you show people are weak, you show them that you can't handle life. You show them that there was always something breaking deep down inside of you. I refuse to let it shin through. I refuse to let him see me weak, to let him see me like this. And so I stretch my hand forward and capture his throat. It's funny, when you can actually feel someone's life behind held within your palm. I don't blink. I don't stutter. I don't hesitate. I cut through it. In one moment of time his head is resting neatly on his shoulders, but in the next, as the scene changes, it is resting neatly next to my foot. More of the liquid is pouring from his body like lust pours from a starved lover. Soon his body is just as limp as mine, and soon it collapses, just as mine down. Falling back, I can finally feel the intrusion within myself push its way out. The ding of metal against a cold floor makes me aware that it is indeed no more and I am indeed bleeding.

Paper. Paper is flying. Paper is moving. The essence of innocence, the purity of white; a gift I have and a gift I don't deserve. It's patching up the wound. Sheath after sheath, layer after layer; it is stopping the bleeding. Wait…but I thought I was…I was going to die? Why is it working? I'm supposed to be dead. I have finished my life purpose. I have completed everything I needed to do…so why isn't my body going numb and falling into a pit of endless blackness? I don't understand, but I still can't move. I still feel helpless, and I still feel useless.

Yes, useless. I was always told I was far from it. Everyone always tells me that I'm such an enormous help and that I add so much to the group; but do I? These paper wings…they're not real. They're paper. They're just as fake as I am, but yet I have them. They flutter out and crease on my sides and I am confused. I am confused as to why they have not dissipated, as to why I have not yet become completely unraveled. Like a thread of yarn, I too am meant to be used up. I am meant to be used to weave a cloth for someone. A cloth so gracious, so magnificent and eloquent; words cannot describe it. But with using me, you are tainting the cloth. You are tainting it with the vile sins of my past and the horrible atrocities that will be my future.

So much death by these hands. So much death by myself…why has death itself not come to claim me now? Is it because I have given him what he wants? Is it because he wants more? Does he want me to stay around, simply so he can get more people? More souls to torture? No. None of these are right. Nothing that I have been thinking is right, because my suspicions were indeed correct.

The paper is soaking wet. The redness is sapping out of it and now dripping onto the floor, and for once in so long, the smallest, most minuscule trace of a grin graces my lips. I knew I was right. I knew today would be my last day. I can't help but gently push myself up against the wall behind me. It's cold, chilled by so much violence, by so much war; and yet it's so cooling at the same time. The coldness is numbing everything; it is making everything so much better. I feel something moving on top of me, though. The coldness has sent my senses on overdrive, and something is slipping off my head. With an inaudible thud, the small, paper flower a top my hair dances its way through the air and onto the ground next to me. I want it, though. I am not ready to let go of that. I will never be ready to let go of that.

My hand seizes it. Reaches out and grasps it with all the strength left inside me. I bring it up, my fingers trembling and wrist shaking violently. I place it on my lap, and as soon as it touched my outfit; I cough. The color goes flying and splatters itself onto the flower. I can't help but smile now. I can feel the life slipping from me more now, and I can feel myself slowly drifting away.

But…I never got to tell him I loved him. I never got the chance, and for that, I will always hate myself. I never got to tell him that I would do everything for him. But...dying for him...it's a...a good way, to die. I never got to tell him I felt like this, but…but maybe it's okay.

I'm an angel…right? A paper angel…? So I'll live…maybe…hopefully. Somehow…an Angel pulls through it all…I can pull through this. My fingers reach out more, and soon I am rubbing the rosy fluid onto the paper. I smile more now, because everything begins to quiet. Everyone begins to notice my absence, and everyone will soon be coming for me. But I'll still be sitting here.

Wings out; I will fly wherever I need to go, whether it be up or down, but I will still be sitting here.

Because forever…

Forever I will be Painting Flowers.

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><p>Yay, I liked it...but then again I'm a super nerd so I don't know.<p>

Let me know if it was liked? It's just a little one-shot inner thoughts thingie, I hope it's still okay though.

_~*Bryan Loves You*~_


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